Nunatak
by AnsuzWhispers
Summary: Some days are worse than others and some… are the worst. This is a Ami-centered prequel to my main story Dreamers Awake. So, if you haven't read it: Be aware of spoilers.


_AN: This is a little side piece to my main story Dreamers Awake. It plays in the same universe albeit before the Senshi even met. It can act as a standalone, but I still strongly recommend reading Dreamers Awake at least up to the double Chapter 33+34 (Below the Ice Cap) to avoid potential spoilers and to understand some details mentioned in this story (so re-reading these chapters is also recommended). Have fun reading… I hope it makes the waiting time until I publish the second part of Dreamers a bit more bearable._

* * *

It was the third time she read the exact same sentence and she still did not fully comprehend it. It annoyed her, because normally she was not so slow in the uptake. In fact, she was anything but, she was used to soak up anything written like a sponge. Today she was just off her game. Frustrated she closed the book and adjusted her sitting position to reach for her bag. She put it right next to her on the grass and beams of sunlight danced over the forest green material. It was a nice day, warm, sunny and people were buzzling around in the park, some on their bikes, some were jogging with their dogs and a group of upper classmen, still clad in their school uniforms were playing volleyball on the lush green meadows. Ami put her book about Medical History back in her bag and took a moment to let her eyes stray over the sakura and pine trees, the blooming grassland and the lake. She loved this particular spot under this oak tree, an old and majestic grandfather measured in tree years, that grew just at the edge of the lake, reaching far with his old and gnarly branches, painting an ever moving net of dancing shadows. Water sparkled in the sunlight and a family of ducks vanished in the swaying water plants. A gentle breeze played with the leaves and cooled the hot air in a soothing manner. People were active all around her enjoying the sunny weather and their precious leisure time in any way they saw fit. If it was cycling, playing all kinds of ball sports, jogging or even swimming in the lake, people enjoyed their time here off the stress of work or school.

It was the perfect spot for a day like this, which only made a certain fact painfully obvious.

Ami shouldn't have come here.

Strangely she felt out of place here on those days, sitting still with only keeping her mind busy with all kinds of literature she could get a grasp on. As much as she enjoyed reading, even she knew that this kind of weather was reserved for more joyful and lively activities.

For a moment she observed the volleyball players who had put up an improvised net, caught up in an even-matched game that revealed quite some talent and compassion on both sides. Four players had already discarded their school uniform jackets, two more had rolled up their sleeves to cool down somewhat in the scathing sunlight. Still, sweat glistened on their skin and Ami could hear their laughter when one of them missed to counter a particular vicious smash although dashing forward in a daring dive for the ball.

Ami smiled slightly.

_That was a good one. Just the right amount of drill for it to be out of his reach._

His teammates helped the unlucky target of that mean smash back to his feet and padded him soothingly on the shoulder, while he just shook his head frustrated that he had given away a point. Ami's eyes wandered back to the server, a lanky girl smiling broadly, who was congratulated enthusiastically by her team. Then all of them went back in stance, and the team scoring last had the serve. The redheaded server girl grinned briefly at her teammates, before she swiftly adjusted her stance and in the next second the ball rushed over the net at top speed.

She did see it. The change in balance. The vague twitch in her shoulder that delivered a delicate drill to the ball that was even more precise than the last one. Ami knew the ball would hit the ground in the left rear corner of the playing field, precisely 10 centimeters away from the back boundary line, just as she knew that it would be out of reach for the player positioned there. His reaction was just not fast enough and his technique lacked finesse to counter that drawback. The enraptured cheering that followed confirmed her analysis and the ball hit the grass, scoring the winning point of the match.

_That girl has talent. She is easily the best out of all of them._

The winning team rushed together in a whirlwind of arms, hugs, backslapping and joyful shouts, high-fiving each other and dancing on the spot.

Her eyes focused back on the poor guy who missed the shot, who was soothed by his teammates with comforting backrubs and hair tousling.

_You would have been able to counter it, if you stood 20 centimeters more to the left and went for it with a dive instead of trying to fish it when the ball was still higher in the air. If you then passed to your teammates at the net in two touches, the blonde one could have delivered a smash to the right corner, which was not covered at all by the opposing team._

The 12 players gathered again to shuffle their teams for a new match. When they separated again to gather as new teams on either side of the net, Ami had a quick look at the new constellation.

_The one led by the redhead is likely going to win again, although that tall guy is a bit of a wildcard._ She mused silently. She watched for a bit longer, analyzing weaknesses and strengths and reassembling the perfect team in her mind, while thinking about what each player could improve.

It was a game she often indulged in in her mind, whenever the opportunity arose.

It was a challenge to her mind and she was always eager to find out whether she was right at the end. A tactical game that kept her occupied when others only cared for goals, points and winners. Typically, she did it only in sports competitions on TV, but she had to admit it was more exciting when she dealt with real players and amateurs nonetheless.

For a moment she truly pondered about going there to offer some advice. The redhead needed to tamper down the force in her strikes. Adding power reduced her accuracy tremendously making her smashes sometimes go astray. The guy who missed the last shot had a knack for always standing slightly off the right spot for countering attacks. The blonde girl was excellent in backcourt attacks, but should consider including some dumps in her play as well, otherwise she was too predictable. And then there was this short guy, who entirely sucked at the position of the hitter, but was an excellent setter. If he only did the second touch, leaving the third to someone else, they could be able to make up for that weakness.

For just a moment she really considered approaching them and telling them what she observed, how each of them could improve their play and what tactical moves would be promising in which tag teams. Briefly, she imagined their grateful reaction, their appreciation for her valuable advice.

However, it was just the brink of a moment. Then that fleeting soap bubble showing such a favorable outcome, burst to be replaced by a more likely scenario, that wasn't fueled by her naive self-delusions.

No, this second scenario was based on certain facts. Fundamental facts, that were as irrevocable as a mountain. Three in particular defined the nature of the outcome of her approaching them with a certainty that almost rivaled 100 percent.

Number one: The youngest out of them was at least three years older than her.

Number two: They did not know her.

And lastly number three: Her appearance screamed scrawny bookworm, who has never touched a volley ball before.

It was crystal clear how it would end.

_The same way it always does. They will never take me seriously._

She had no need to see it through so she stayed put and remained solely an attentive watcher.

_That's all you can do: watch but don't interfere. Your advice is not appreciated so don't bother trying._

People did not like know-it-alls, especially not eleven year old ones.

Her advice would be probably interpreted as rude insult of their skill and brushed off as unwanted overly-daring smartass behavior of a little pipsqueak. In the best case, they would just laugh at her. In the worst case, they might even attack her physically for her audacity to lecture them. She shuddered upon the proposition of having such a large group against her.

_It wouldn't be the first time. Giving advice usually ended bad for her. Those who didn't know, who she was, usually reacted spooked, skeptical and doubtful, while those who did recognize her typically considered her an arrogant pompous brat. _

_Again, the most optimistic scenarios._

Either way the final outcome was always the same. They wanted to have nothing to do with her. Ami already learned this lesson long ago. _Just because you think you know better, you shouldn't voice that knowledge out loud. Just because you want to help, does not mean that help will be appreciated. Act in a manner that is appropriate to your age and status and don't voice your opinion unasked._

She hadn't mastered the art yet, but considered herself getting better in knowing when to keep her mouth shut. To be honest, that wasn't very difficult lately, since she refrained from talking to others, whenever she could avoid it anyway. It was the safest option.

The only times she let on was during lessons. She was anyway called a genius by most, so it didn't hurt then, at least not much and she enjoyed learning too much to keep quiet. However, even then she tuned down her responses, always careful how in depth her answer was supposed to be, always mindful not to overdo it. It really depended on the lessons and the teachers. Sometimes she just did not participate in oral discussions, not because she didn't know the answers, but because she was holding back on purpose. It was mostly in classes where she was uncomfortable, with classmates she knew talked behind her back about her and with teachers she didn't particularly like. At the end it made no difference for her grade. She got her A's anyway, no matter whether she chose to stick to the background. It was sometimes easier to be invisible and she engaged that strategy more often, lately. It was nice to be overlooked, because it guaranteed her peace and quiet. To take notes. To study. To pay attention. To do all the things that really mattered. But even then, she often had spare time at her disposal, time she used to discreetly observe those around her. She frequently listened to the low whispers, the stories about weekend adventures and birthday parties, noticed the small banters about which pop idol was coolest and observed them exchanging sweets and small pieces of paper with scribbled text on it. She heard everything and she saw everything.

However, she was never part of it.

Nobody ever asked her what she did on her weekend, not that there was much to tell, but anyway. She was never invited to any birthday parties and scribbled notes typically made a wide berth around her desk to reach their destination.

_They expect me to rat them out to the teachers to score points for excellent behavior. However, no one seemed to consider that I notice anyway. And I don't recall having ever ratted out anyone so far…_

Their logic never made sense to her. She tried to understand though and made efforts to better her social standing. Offering help in their studies seemed to be a good idea in her mind. After all it might be advantageous to them and it might break the ice. It did not take long for her to notice that there must be some error in her thinking. Her attempts were always declined. Typically accompanied with poor excuses and a swift escape.

Ami so far identified three possible reasons. Number one: She skipped a class, therefore no one wanted to admit that he or she needed help form a junior grade, genius or not. Number two: They probably considered her arrogant enough to think that it was beneath her to care for their petty problems. And Number three, probably the nicest one out of her theories, they thought she was too busy to waste her time with them.

Still, none of those answers made sense. She offered after all, so why did they insinuate that she had no time for them? If that was true she wouldn't have offered, would she?

She had orchestrated several other experimental approaches so far.

For instance, she thought it would help to appear more approachable if she tampered down her answers in class, if she excluded herself from the question answer games completely. However, she could not keep it up for long and the results were rather poor since it did not change her peers' behavior towards her at all. If anything, it made her feel only lonelier, because in some way she thrived under the teachers' approval and her mood turned even sourer, when she forced herself not to partake in the only aspect of school she enjoyed.

She gave up not long after and came to the conclusion that she would not follow that path anymore. She also tried to offer help on more than one occasion, starting on a smaller scale like returning a rubber that fell to the ground or lending a pen to a classmate who forgot hers. To these proposals either followed awkward silence with poorly masked excuses as to why they could do without her help or the offer was temporarily accepted until the task at hand was accomplished. Afterwards they pretended not to know her anymore and everything was back to the way it was before.

She stopped these fruitless approaches to befriend her classmates soon after.

She accepted the status quo and did not put any more useless effort into changing it.

After all, it could be worse.

For them she was just there. Tolerated, but not included in their interactions.

However, she would always prefer them ignoring her in comparison to the alternative.

The ones, who bitched about her behind her back. The ones who were mostly to blame for her bad reputation.

Not, that she wouldn't notice. She did. She was a good observer after all, although sometimes she wished she wasn't. When she was younger and admittedly more naïve she often asked herself what she did to deserve such behavior. Only later she realized that it wasn't something she did. It was about what she was. An outlier. An outcast. An anomaly. She did not fit into the accepted range of what was normal and was therefore predestined to be a harassing victim. That was how society and in a simpler more cruel form the minds of children worked. Choose someone to pick on and it won't be you. Just look for the weakest link and blame everything on it.

But was she weak?

Probably. She did not defend herself when she was verbally attacked and she did not correct their vile opinions of her, however unfounded they might be. In most cases she said nothing; she just hid behind her indestructible armor and sometimes a book, and waited until the onslaught was over. She would not confront them, she would not fight back. She rather chose tactical retreat, curling up in a protective ball building up her walls and endured whatever thy dished out, until they were tired with her lack of response and let her go. However, these kind of worst case outcomes were fortunately rare exceptions. In most cases, she prevented any form of confrontation long before it developed into an actual situation. She was a strategist after all. She knew how to keep a low profile. She could predict potentially dangerous constellations and act accordingly to avoid unfavorable outcomes. She never provoked anyone. If approached she was always polite even to the ones she knew were snakes in the grass. She was always aware of her surroundings, the people as well as potential escape routes. She avoided crowds, especially those including the notorious bullies. She only entered class rooms when the teacher was around. She made herself rare and pretended not to notice their gossiping or the quietening voices as soon as she approached. She retreated to spots, especially during breaks, she knew were always vacated and avoided those that were popular.

Was that cowardice?

For sure it was. Sometimes she thought she should stand up and give them a piece of her mind, but more often her rational thinking got the better of her, knowing that if she gave them reason to gang up on her, she stood no chance against their combined force. Sometimes she had the feeling they wanted her to snap, to see that their provocations and jabs got a rise out of her, to witness her break down crying. They wanted to empower themselves by reducing the supposed to be superior genius to a crumbled teary mess.

So far she managed to weasel out of their range of influence and gave them not much opportunity to pick on her.

Most of them she could keep at bay like this. However, there were one or two who noticed her evasive behavior and made it their personal agenda to catch her unguarded.

She was a challenge to them and they wanted to prove to her that her superior intellect meant nothing.

They wanted to show her that the praise of the teachers meant nothing.

That she was nothing. A small insect they could smash under their heels with ease.

Sometimes they almost succeeded in making her believe it.

Her only pride was that she never let on outwardly about how much their words and actions eroded her in the inside. She kept her face blank, erected her protecting armor and fled to more appealing dreamscapes.

Deep down their words always hurt and cut like sharp knives. No matter how much effort she put into it, she could never blend them out fully. It was an impossible feat to make herself feel nothing, she could only appear as if she felt nothing.

And that's what she did.

Seeing her break would be their victory.

She would not give them the satisfaction to see how much they got to her. She would remain unaffected, unfazed, untouched, if nothing else at least on the surface. It wasn't that bad, after all. She could endure the rare occasions it got out of hand and these were only single individuals she could avoid most of the time, but if she put up a fight, it would for sure get worse.

_If the injured prey pretends to be dead, the predator will lose interest, but if it starts to struggle… it will be torn apart by the whole bloodthirsty pack._

_I am not going to be the injured prey in the first place. _

_I am the prey that escapes capture. If I were a gazelle chased by a pack of lions I would need to outrun them._

_I am not a gazelle though. Speed is not my saving grace. I am going to outsmart them. They will not even get the chance to back me into a corner._

For the most part that strategy worked. As long as she did not let her guard down and stayed vigilant, things were ok. They kept her on her toes, but she wouldn't lose this dance, in fact she was typically one step ahead. Not always, she wasn't perfect after all, but she could learn from those mistakes, that resulted in her being assaulted.

And she did. She has never committed the same mistake a second time. Some lessons were harsh, but they were still lessons learned.

It was just the way it was.

So, she just accepted it and stuck to herself. Even when she was alone she usually didn't feel lonely.

She had gotten used to it.

She had her books after all, her best friends, pages of collected wisdom and fascinating facts that were way more reliable than the living beings surrounding her. Books were her treasures. They saved her from boredom, they granted her with experiences she would probably never experience for real, and they never betrayed or lied to her. Everything her real life lacked she could find in her cherished books. They were a never-ending source to hone her skills and sate her curiosity. Books were all the world to her: the endless sky to her inner eyes, the company for her lonely heart, ever-changing challenges for her insatiable mind, wings to her imagination, doors to the grand adventures of her dreams, fuel to her curiosity and the balm for her soul.

Her place of refuge.

Her salvation.

She always carried them with her. Her reliable companions that gave her everything she longed for. Knowledge. Adventures. Love. Friendship. Dedication. Loyalty and a place where she belonged.

It added up to her reputation. The bookworm. The genius. The nerd. The loner. The one who considers herself better than us.

She had reached a point where she did not care anymore.

Her classmates did not know her and they were not very keen to change that fact.

They judged her based on their superstitions and prejudices and she was tired of fighting against those. It was like fighting against windmills, a futile waste of energy.

Let them think whatever they want. They would do so, anyway so why putting effort into changing their minds. It's better if you keep your head low and do not raise more attention than necessary.

It's not as if you wouldn't appreciate to be alone. Being on your own had its advantages. It was liberating to see things from the perspective of an outsider, and some things could only be appropriately appreciated when being on your own: the wonders of nature, the pleasure of a good novel, the thrill while letting your mind work in ways you have never thought of before. You can do whatever you want, whenever you want and you never have to be considerate of someone else.

_And still…_ she thought, while watching the second volleyball match coming to a close. Winners and losers embracing in exhausted joy, while exchanging good-hearted jests.

_There are things you can only enjoy with others and just reading about them will never be enough. _No matter how much alive the protagonists in her books were to her, they stayed what they were. Fiction. They only existed inside her head. They were not sitting here right beside her and she could not embrace them down on that playing field. She could not feel their touches, could not listen to their jokes, and could not bask in their smiles.

They were not real.

They only acted according to her imagination.

Puppets on a string with her as their puppet master.

Sometimes her imagination just wasn't enough.

Days like this reminded her of that simple and irrevocable fact.

Days like this mocked her, with dangling what she deeply longed for right in front of her face, while keeping it still far out of reach.

Days like this made the grass less green, the sun less warm and the lake less beautiful. It made even her precious books appear lacking.

Observing others did this to her.

They were all gathered here enjoying life to the fullest sharing their precious time: colleagues, schoolmates, friends, families, siblings, couples.

They were all together. They all had someone by their side.

_Only I am alone. I have no one._

On other days she could pretend, on other days she could deceive herself. It would not pull her down the way it did, now.

But today was just a mocking show playing out in front of her. The cruel reminder was staring her into the eye and no kind of pretense could save her. The beaming sunlight unveiled the darkness that has taken root in her thoughts and heart. It lured out a truth she always kept hidden in the shadows. It made her thoughts stray away from complicated equations and scientific hypotheses, to way simpler problems.

_Simple problems I still cannot solve._

_I shouldn't have come here._

_It makes my mind wander to forbidden places._ Places that only bring forth pain. Places so alluring that she sought them out like a moth the fire. She knew it was a destructive path. She anyway treaded it despite knowing, it would not end well for her. She was like that moth, only that she burnt slowly, a pain that was at least partly sweet, the same as it was crippling, a pain she reveled in and hated at the same time. It was sweet torture to her and still she could not turn her back to these alluring places and leave them behind altogether. As a slave of her own desires, she always came back here and her vivid imagination turned from friend to enemy.

She thought about how it would be, if she was part of a group of friends as well. Part of a team… part of something… just… anything…

How would it feel to laugh amongst them down there on that playing field…?

To share win and loss, joy and grief, to be accepted in their midst as one of them… unconditionally. To just call a spot your own, where you belong, where you are needed, where you are content to be… with people you cherish… people who cherish _you_.

_I don't know._

_It must be… _

… _incredible..._

On those days her jealousy got the best of her and she felt ashamed for that very same feeling clawing mercilessly at her chest, festering in every bone and muscle, no matter how much she wanted to shove it back behind constrictive walls. Her heart ached and she wished she could just rip out the traitorous organ that even managed to sway her most powerful asset to its side. Her insatiable mind just refused to obey her, when she demanded it to submit to logic and just wandered to places that were far beyond her reach.

Places she could look at, but she could never touch, never feel actual contact, never immerse herself into.

She was just imagining things that were only … fragile illusions and fading dreams.

It was the moment, when you stand as a child in a zoo with your nose pressed to a glass front curiously asking yourself, whether the fur of the tiger behind it would be soft, only to realize that you will never know, although the answer to that question was right in front of you.

It was the moment when her wings burned in the sun like the ones of Icarus, when her books stayed silent and when she cursed her own imagination with vigor. When her mind turned traitor, and succumbed to a sentimentality, she could not silence no matter how much she tried.

It stung. It hurt. And it made doubts surface… It made her feel inferior.

Wasn't that ridiculous?

The one called a genius by everyone felt inferior. The one who is named so many extraordinary things: Smart. Talented. A quick study. Special. Outstanding. To name only a few.

_However, what good is that for? I cannot achieve what is normal for everyone else. I am the one who is beneath them. I cannot form what appears to be so simple for everyone else: bonds._

_Something must be wrong with me._

_It should be engraved in my very genes. It should come naturally as it does for everyone else. It was what kept mankind alive when humanity evolved over eons. The ability to socialize._

_An ability I simply don't get the hang of. I am not gifted. I am lacking. And… I… I don't even know, how to learn it. I don't know how to compensate for that failure._

The volleyball teams in the meantime had decided to take a break. They were relaxed, joined in friendly banter. Some put their heads together peering on their mobile phones in curiosity, showing each other their newest pics and videos. Unpacking their lunchboxes, they rested on the grass and laughed, sharing their food and drinks.

_I have never shared my food with anyone like this._

Frustrated tears welled up in the corners of her eyes.

Ami forcefully averted her gaze only to focus on a particular uninteresting spot of grass right in front of her, blinking away the traitorous salty droplets. On second glance she spotted a couple of ants, dissecting a dead grass hopper. The mere sight depressed her even more.

_I am like that grasshopper. _

_I am supposed to be superior, but I will always loose against those, who band together._

_Even Mother Nature likes to remind me that teamwork pays off._

She exhaled shakily, angrily. Don't surround yourself with delusions. You are not a team player. You will never be. You just don't fit in. Nowhere. There are people who are just destined to be loners. People who are not made for being normal.

Her mother always said normalcy is overrated. That not the normal people bring society forward but the special ones.

She truly wondered whether bringing society forward was worth it, whether those other special people longed to be normal just as much as she does. And if she was truly honest with herself, she did not care one bit for society. People tended to forget she was still a kid, a kid with the same dreams and urges like every other kid, so why was she supposed to serve society when every other kid her age was allowed to be selfish? To play? To do unreasonable and stupid things?

_I never do unreasonable things. Everyone just expects me to be … not a child._

_To be mature and responsible._

_That the rest of me matches my intellect._

_It does not._

Those who long to be average just to belong throw away their greatest strength. The very thing that makes them unique. Those were the words of her father. Different words, maybe, but ones that meant the same. Words spoken by someone, who should know, someone who understood better than her mother ever could.

They did little do console her.

Her father was a loner as well, embracing that very fact to be an extraordinary artist. He was special in his own way and how did it end for him? He could not keep his family together and all he was living for was his art.

Would it be the same for her? Would she one day excel in academics only to realize that it was all she had? All she could ever do? All she could ever _be_?

The mere thought frightened her. Part of her still clung to the naïve idea, that she could help others with her skills. How are you supposed to do that, if no one is willing to listen? If they don't want your help?

_You are young Ami. Give them time… They will see how brilliant you are and one day they will love you for it…_

Those were her father's words as well and although well-meant they felt like a punch to the gut.

_I don't want to be loved nor hated just because of my brains. I want to be more than that. I want to be seen as the one I truly am. And I do not want the love that is distanced admiration and worship. I want true camaraderie and unconditional friendship. _

Her eyes strayed again to the volleyball players, the inferno of jealousy in her heart spiking in a painful flare.

_I want what they have!_

Ami gnashed her teeth. _Stop it. Don't go there! That dream cannot be yours. You have others. Concentrate on those you can make a reality, not on those which are destined to fail._

It did not work. Not entirely. It never did. In that moment she hated those volleyball players and in the next she hated herself for hating them. Stop it. It's wrong to feel that way. It's not their fault.

They did not cause your pain. You did.

Why did you even come here? You should have known. Why did you not stay at home in your room? You would not feel this bad if you did. You could have focused solely on reading and studying. Instead, you chose to come here.

And now you are watching them.

You feel miserable, but you are still watching them.

Just leave. Return to your own world and don't watch the ones of others.

Why do you not just do that?

_I will think about them anyway. And when I come back to this tree next time I will probably ask myself, whether they will be here again. Not because I want to avoid them, but because I want to watch them again._

_Watching is as close as I can get…_

_An anonymous observer that is neither needed nor acknowledged…_

_How pathetic can you get, Ami? It hurts, so why can't you turn your eyes away from them? Why do you feel the need to torture yourself? Why do you need to surround yourself with the very thing that pains you so…?_

Ami liked to watch scientific documentaries. Some of them were not suited for her age and her mother often scolded her half-heartedly for watching them nonetheless. Forensics in particular had caught her interest. Unfortunately, this was exactly where her mother drew the line. Officially, she was prohibited from watching them until she got older. Unofficially, the promise of forbidden knowledge spurned her on only more and she watched them quite often, when her mother wasn't home, which was more often than she was. She had asked herself how people could commit suicide. How could you plunge a knife in your belly, knowing it would only bring pain and harm?

She still wasn't sure how the instinctual drive for self-preservation could allow it, but now she could relate to those people, who did stab themselves.

Didn't she do the same thing just with a metaphorical knife?

Sitting here telling herself she should leave and still no muscle of her body moved.

_I might not die from it, but I welcome that pain again and again and I don't even know why. Nothing good will come out of it. It's just for… keeping a dying dream alive. A fire almost extinguished that flares again briefly in the temporary breeze of wind… Only for the spur of a moment it gleams again, radiating a semblance of warmth._

_I will remember that gleam when I sit in darkness._

_It might not warm me sufficiently, but the little amount of warmth is still a relief in utter coldness, when I had nothing before. It keeps me from freezing._

_It's almost as good as the real thing… a part of her might have claimed but another part knew better._

_No, it isn't, but it's all I have._

_It has to be enough._

_For now. Maybe one day I get to know how the warmth of a real fire feels. Maybe someday the breeze of wind will be of the right kind and the fire will flare to something that deserves that name, radiating that desired heat in abundance._

_Maybe…_

Suddenly, a shout ripped her out of her dark musings. "Hey, little girl!"

Ami jumped, looking up instantly as if to expect a harsh blow, not finding the shouter. Only on second thought she realized that the address probably wasn't meant for her. There were a lot of 'little girls' running around here playing after all. She slumped down against the rough tree bark, immediately engulfed in the cloud of her depressive mood again.

"Hey! You! The little girl with the short blueish hair. Can you pass the ball, please?"

She looked up again and found the lanky redhead waving in her direction. _Is she talking to me?_

Ami looked around bewildered. There was no one here besides her. Her eyes found a volley ball lying only a few meters in front of her and she finally understood the request.

_The ball. She wants me to toss back the ball._

The lanky redhead still looked at her expectantly. All of them were still on break. Apparently, she had wanted to show a move to one of her friends and the ball went astray.

Ami jumped up, flustered that she took so long to get what was asked of her.

She took up the ball and was already halfway through the movement of throwing it back, when her arm reminded her with a dull throb that this might not be the best idea.

Damn.

She lowered her arm and walked forward, ball in hand.

The redhead smiled at her, when she reached her and handed over the ball. "Thank you, but you didn't have to walk all the way down here. Why didn't you throw it?"

Ami dared to look up for a shy glimpse. "My aim is not very good." She lied and immediately felt bad for it.

"Ah, I see. I saw you watching us so I thought you might play as well." A genuine smile adorned her face.

"No,… I am… I am not so good with sports." She stuttered, embarrassed that she had been caught staring at them.

"Well, sorry for bothering you, then. That last ball kind of went astray." She scratched the back of her head sheepishly. "Just when I wanted to show off. Typical. For a moment, I thought the ball might hit you, so sorry if I gave you a scare."

She did not even notice and the redhead was still apologizing.

Ami managed a small smile. She seemed nice. Maybe…

"If you tune down the force you use for that strike and hit the ball a bit lower on your arm closer to your wrist, your aim will be more accurate. You can manage to put the same velocity behind it, if you slightly change your stance. The power will then come out of your upper body and not just your arm. That way you also won't tire so easily and can repeat the move more often during a match."

It just blurted out of her. She immediately knew it was a mistake when she saw the redhead's eyebrows vanish in her hairline. She knew that expression all too well. It was followed by confused suspicion and disbelief. There she was, an unathletic pipsqueak, who can't even throw a ball straight, according to her own words, giving a talented player like her advice. She could see that very same fact register on the redhead's face. "I thought you don't play?"

"I .. don't." Ami squeezed out, knowing she just made it worse. She almost felt her scrutinizing gaze grilling her, as if she did not know what to make out of her. She could see it in her eyes, the smile on her lips gone, now. How she took in the small girl in front of her that dared to criticize her on things, she knew nothing about.

_Dammit, Ami. Why can't you keep your mouth shut!_

Suddenly, a second girl appeared behind her. "You got the ball, Kiza?" Ami almost panicked when this second set of searching eyes found her and it did not help, when some of the others started to take interest in her as well.

"I … I need to go." She stuttered, not looking at the redhead anymore, before she turned abruptly. When she reached her sitting tree, she hastily grabbed her bag and made a bolt for it.

She did not turn back and they did not follow her.

Only when she was far out of eyesight, her rushed footsteps slowed down until she stood completely still. There in the middle of the park surrounded by bustling activity she stood as her lone self and stared at her own feet, her head hung low.

_You knew. Why did you say it? You knew it would end that way._

_It always does._

Ami sighed in defeat.

Just go home. You should have done so the first moment you were unable to concentrate. Instead you embarrassed yourself. Nothing new there. Just get over it. You won't see them again, so it does not matter.

She trotted forward, still studying her shoes more than where she was going. It was the change in the texture of the ground that finally caught her attention. The grass was gone and sand had taken its place. Reluctantly, she dared to look up and noticed that she had ended up at the edge of the lake, the clear mirror stretching out in front of her in all its glory.

The view was beautiful. The water was sparkling invitingly and she imagined with a small reminiscent smile, how the refreshing rivulets would feel running down her skin. She wasn't sure whether she should turn around or stay. It wasn't the first time she fought that internal battle and it did not get any easier.

It was the same as with the volleyball players…

_No, not entirely the same. Here, you know what experience you deny yourself. Here your dreams have once been reality._

She missed the water.

She missed its soothing calm, the steady waves, the smooth liquid texture between her fingers, the refreshing droplets raining down her hair and the comforting feeling of the absence of gravity, when it carried her in its gentle embrace. The soothing quiet when she dived into its depth and entered a world that was entirely hers. Deep under its surface she had found her peace, her mind had found its rest and her soul the balm it desired no matter what plagued her. There was the alluring promise of doing the same for her now.

She avoided the water.

Knowing, she could not be a part of it the way she was before. Knowing, it could now betray her as soon as her weakness made itself known. Fearing, she might miss it even more when she got reacquainted with it and remembered every single reason, why she was so fond of it in the first place in painful detail.

Still, she always heard its calling.

It was like a siren's song entrancing her, engraving itself deep in her bones, a hushed plea that echoed persistently in her skull waiting to be fulfilled. A deep longing that tore at her very soul.

And this time her weakness made itself known and she couldn't resist its pull and stepped forward.

The smooth slightly rippling surface right in front of her was beckoning her to come closer, as if it missed her as much as she did. It was calling out her name in burbling whispers and its sparkling surface reflected her blurred face, as if to show her, what she truly was.

_You are a part of me. You belong with me._

A broken smile adorned the reflection.

_Yes, I once did. Not for much longer, though._

She had always trusted the water.

The water was her friend, the only one she ever had, but even that friend has abandoned her eventually or maybe … she was the one to leave.

It had not been her choice. It was a choice made for her by fate_. I had to let go of the water or it might have __brought me to my knees__._

The defense sounded hollow even in her ears, but she knew it was true. All or nothing. _I hated it, but it had to be the 'nothing'._

She sent a dubious look down her left arm. When she concentrated she could still feel it tingle slightly, a state she had grown accustomed to and learned to ignore. She never forgot though. The limb might obey her commands right now, but she never knew, when it would fail her.

There were warning signs, but nothing more.

She was primed for these telltale signs and knew what movements might trigger them.

_Like throwing a ball for instance…_

However, those telltale signs were as fail proof as divination. The truth is she never knew and a great deal of caution had become part of her daily life. She was typically hyper aware of her every movement and kept every form of physical exertion to a minimum. Even for trivial everyday actions she had learned to favor her right arm, to refrain from making sudden movements and carry weights like her bag on the other shoulder. She also did not run or jump. Everything even close to physical exertion was out of question. As a consequence, she wasn't participating in any sport courses anymore, which was interpreted by her schoolmates in their usual superficial ways:

She had better things to do… Her deliberate movements portrayed arrogance…

Physical exercises were beneath her…

The school organized a special exception for her to foster their genius even more in intellectual ways, while allowing her to vacate the subjects that did not benefit her…

Special treatment just for her…

She had heard it all and didn't bother to correct these false views of her. After all, she would have to tell them about her injury; if she did and to be honest, she was beyond glad they didn't know and wanted to keep it that way.

After all, she could vividly imagine the arising gossip: _The little genius girl turns out to be a cripple. _As well as the nastier comments: _Serves her right. The universe still knows justice._

_Thank you very much. I can do without it. I won't contribute the ammunition to those who want to destroy me._

In fact, she did miss sports. She might have never been good at it and to be chosen last in every team sport exercise did not exactly raise her spirits back then, but the feeling of physical exhaustion afterwards, the buzzing of her pulse in her veins, her harsh breath rattling in her lungs and the satisfying tiredness in her muscles after a long run as well as the hype when you achieved a new personal record. Those were all feelings she never thought, she would ever miss. However, those memories were already fading and she never knew, whether she just saw everything through rose-colored glasses like so many people, who reminisced about the past that was no more. Maybe if she was able to participate in sports one more time, she would realize it wasn't all that great and not the least bit the way she remembered.

At least, that was what she told herself. Sometimes, she even succeeded in believing it.

_You never appreciate what you have, as long as it is there._

_You only miss things, when they are gone._

_And those things you took the time to appreciate while they lasted, those you will miss the most._

For some things that feeling of loss does not last. You will get over missing them and the fact that those things are gone settles slowly and it hurts every time less when you think about it, until you can't even remember, what you missed about them in particular.

Then, there are those things you will always miss, but the ache dulls nonetheless. You will only be reminded of it, when they stare right into your eye, sporadic lances of pain evoked by certain triggers that will ebb away given enough time. Like a scar of an old wound you almost forget you have, one you only notice, when you look into a mirror. The scar reminds you of old pain, but loses more and more of its horror and just gets to be a part of you. The feelings tied to it then change more and more until they resemble sad nostalgia more than actual loss.

And then there is this third type of things you miss. The most troublesome type you have to fight constantly. Those losses remain fresh wounds, barely scabbed over, ripped open with the slightest movement, or with the slightest reminder. They simply refuse to heal no matter how much time passes and related memories rather become stronger and more prominent, stubbornly refusing to be reduced to nostalgia. On the contrary, they are always present and occupy your mind with a persistence that renders on obsession. The loss of those things always bother you and the pain lingers, sometimes stronger sometimes weaker, but it refuses to ebb away completely. Ironically, this type was just like your arm. Always in the back of your thoughts, never forgotten, ready to torture you at unpredictable times. Haunting you day and night those losses remained a painful constant, you never really got used to. Triggers are plentiful and unpredictable and if you try to avoid some, others will take their place.

She hated those things the most.

For her one thing in particular remained such an open festering wound.

To be unable to swim.

At the beginning, when the injury had been still fresh, she had tried to swim without straining it too much, confident that if she avoided overdoing it, nothing bad would happen. It turned out rather quickly that those were the thoughts of a fool. She had barely used the arm, but they had to fish her out of the water anyway, twitching in fits of painful cramps that had stolen her breath away. In between the fits she had choked out water, completely unaccustomed to the horrid feeling of the liquid flooding her lungs. She still remembered lying on those cold wet floor tiles, forcing herself to focus at the drab-colored ceiling. She had tried in vain to rein in her spasms with clenched teeth while coughing up water.

She had been helpless. Her only way out had been to endure it and wait until the fit waned on its own. Every kind of control had been taken from her and her oh so powerful mind lacked even the simple ability to control her feeble body now.

What a mockery…

_I can calculate mathematical equations even university students have their fair share of trouble with, but I can't stop shaking… It must be karma that the same one blessed with an extraordinary mind ended up as a cripple physically._

She remembered only particular aspects of the incident, other things were blurred and about some things she only pondered in the aftermath with no particular memory of the event itself.

She never knew who pulled her out of the water. She also didn't know who held her down, when the spasms turned too violent.

In fact, she had never asked about it, not even afterwards.

Some would consider it strange; in fact, most would consider it appropriate to thank the respective people for their help… for saving her life. However, she never did. Normally, she was a stickler for manners and politeness, but in this particular case she had only felt the adamant urge to never face them again. To completely forget, it ever happened.

It might appear ungrateful, but for her it made perfect sense.

She dreaded the pain, but even worse were the people witnessing her going through it. She had always managed to hold up a strong facade to protect herself, but these protective barriers were brutally ripped from her along with any semblance of control. She hated to be so vulnerable in front of them, but there was nothing she could do. Through the pain she could not uphold her shields; she could not even run to hide away. This side of her was something she despised with all her being and she was even more ashamed of somebody seeing her in that condition. Seeing her hit her absolute rock bottom. It made her feel naked, bared to their cruel scrutiny with no way to defend herself.

How many of those who saw her that day just stared at her in cruel glee, accomplishing what they desired for so long. Seeing her break. Seeing her writhing on the floor. She did not know. She never looked at their faces, afraid that seeing the undeniable proof there, might break her even further.

Maybe she should have looked. Maybe there would have been pity instead.

Not that she liked that notion so much better, but it would have been more acceptable and it would have hurt less than her imagination filling the void of the missing expressions of their staring faces with whatever it saw fit.

At the end she did not know. She could only picture their expressions in her mind and her mind was sometimes crueler than reality ever could.

It did not really matter that much anyway. She would not have to face them again.

The realization had been equally relieving and painful.

The reason for the first feeling was apparent and unfortunately the reason for the latter was as well.

It stung, but at that time she could not deny it anymore: She had no control over those fits and trying to swim was equivalent to risking her life. If they didn't get her out of the pool that fast, she might have drowned and the notion alone was something that made her shudder. That the very same place, which had always been her solace might have turned into her grave. This realization had sealed the end of her swimming career and marked her definite parting with the element, she cherished so much.

First, she had felt as if the water betrayed her, just like her arm, just like that damaged body that failed to obey her wish and command. Only later she finally recognized the bitter truth: the water had not changed. She had.

It had been her second fit and it had been far worse than the first. It made her realize that it wasn't going to become better, that this wasn't just aftereffects that would dwindle over time. It made her realize that this state was going to be permanent. After the first fit she had been still able to delude herself, clinging to her ridiculous hope that it just was a one-time occurrence, but after lying on those floor tiles, writhing without any form of control… biting back the pain…

…she finally understood.

It made a new cruel reality push aside the world she has known, the one she had barely held together with just memories and delusions.

It made the doctor's words corporal and bone-crushing, when before they had been just far-fetched 'maybes' and conjunctives without any tangible context, delivered in a sterile hospital room as a vague diagnosis. Untainted words unrelated to pain, to barriers, to loss, to sorrow…

… to _her_.

Now, those strings were attached. Those shackles took on form and tied her down. Those words defined her now and became the fundament of her new world. They had gained weight and she was almost crushed beneath.

Only associated with the pain flaring through her whole body, she had realized what those words truly meant for her.

_Nothing would be back to normal. This is your normal, now._

Things changed. Permanently. And she wasn't able to stop that change, genius or not. She was powerless. She could do nothing about it. Her mind would not defeat her body, although if she wasn't careful it might happen the other way around.

That fit provided a form of clarity, she never wanted to have. The same clarity she had avoided until then with all her might. With that fit her old world died and a new one replaced it. One that was foreign and frightening. One that was defined by restrictions. One that was drenched in sorrow and longing. A world she wasn't sure how to live in or whether she even could. She wished that there was a way to go back. To undo what happened, to get back what she lost. It had never been perfect, but oh so much better than what she had to settle with, now. However, deep down she knew it was a fool's hope, she should not entertain. She would only hurt herself, if she clung too tightly to what has been and would never return.

_I cannot live in the past._

_If I do, that past will destroy me._

She had to let go.

Her days in the water were over.

It was a fundamental fact she needed to accept.

A ground rule to her new world.

The first one with so many more to follow.

She needed to draw a line. She needed to put the past behind her.

She needed to differentiate between the here and back then.

She had to accept that this had been her goodbye. This is what it looked like. One last time swimming that ended in painful disaster. Burning lungs and screaming muscles. Wet floor tiles in her back. And water droplets on her cheeks that, unnoticed to everyone else had mixed with bitter tears.

She dropped out of the swimming club the next day.

Her trainer had shown her a mixture of pity, disappointment and sympathy. All reactions she had despised instantly. Most of his sorrow probably anyway stemmed from the prospect of winning fewer competitions without her in the team, not that she ever managed to get as far as to participate in a competition, since she was still in the initial training phase. But like everybody else he had had his expectations… which were now nipped in the bud. A small part of her had briefly seen her father in him standing in front of that damn canvas and a voice in her head contributed disdainfully.

_Another disappointment…_

When her trainer then tried to cheer her up stating that she had more time for studying now, to follow her career of choice and that she anyway needn't rely on her success as pro swimmer for her future, her face had turned to a mask of stone. A stoic facade that was in so much contrast to what festered within. Just a strong front to hide the overwhelming urge to strangle the man.

Fortunately, she had managed to rein herself in. He was not there during her fit. He did not witness it. He did not know her and his social skills were barely exceeding hers. She should be lenient with him.

She was so tired of being lenient with everyone. Nobody ever was with her.

Her facial expression must have given something away. He had regretted his attempt to lighten the mood instantly, apologized and voiced his genuine regret not to have her in the team anymore. He assured her, she would be direly missed. She was almost sure, it had been somewhat sincere, but it didn't mean much to her. None of his words did mean anything anymore. In fact, she barely listened and just nodded from time to time, desperate to get this whole ordeal over with.

Her eyes had never strayed from the water, though.

That day she was almost desperate to leave the swimming hall behind, knowing that staring any longer at the water would have reduced her to a teary mess. She had fled the place barely holding herself together, knowing it would be a long time, if ever, before she entered a swimming hall again.

She had fought back the moistness welling up in her eyes with all her might, trying to cling to the last bit of control that was left to her.

_Crying will not make a difference. Nothing will change if you give in to those tears._

She wouldn't let those tears win.

That's what she swore at that moment.

_Another lie._

At the end they won nevertheless. She only bought herself some time. Days later she had crumbled into a teary mess in the safety of her room, a pathetic ball of ugly self-pity. It had rained. It had fucking rained and watching those droplets running down her window glass was all it took for her to fall apart. At least there had been no witnesses; at least nobody saw her sobbing into her pillow until her tear ducts run dry. Another defeat of her powerful mind against far greater forces. First, her body was stronger and now her emotions got the best of her.

_How the mighty have fallen…_

There was only one person who truly understood the magnitude of her despair at the prospect of never being able to swim again.

Her father.

He had taught her how to swim when she was little. He loved the water as much as she did and from him she learnt to use her swimming exercises to vent off steam and find her inner calm. They were so very similar in that regard.

However, the fact that he could empathize with her losing all of this, made dealing with him even more difficult. She longed to talk to him about it, but knew just because he could completely understand what she lost, she couldn't.

What was he supposed to do about it, if she told him?

He couldn't fix it. He might try though with futile replacement approaches, that were bound to end in disaster.

No, she could not tell him. She had to make him believe that she coped well.

She would only make him feel miserable otherwise.

_It's enough if one of us is miserable._

They anyway barely managed to talk after what happened. Something had shattered in the both of them and he was as lost as her looking for the missing pieces. He tried to be there for her, in his own way, but to be honest; she wasn't very helpful in mending things between them.

Whereas her mother concentrated on providing the best medical care available on the whole planet, coming up with a new potential therapy strategy every day, he was less concerned with her physical wellbeing and more worried about her mental state. She could see it on his sorrowful face, heard it in the ever repeating questions, she always answered with the same flowers of speech.

What else was she supposed to say? What was there to say beyond 'I am fine.' and 'It isn't that bad' and 'Don't worry, I am getting used to it.'.

Quite often there also was the 'It isn't your fault' on her lips, but so far, she didn't dare to say it, knowing it would have the opposite effect on him to the one she wanted to achieve. She needed to say it though. Eventually she would. Just not now.

Everything else would be unfair.

_After all, it was I who run away like a petulant child without thinking. I got lost in the woods and I did not see the snake._

None of this was his doing… no matter what happened before. _That's what I am telling myself again and again._

A small shameful part of her couldn't stop about wondering of how things would have turned out, if they did not argue about the painting beforehand. A part she was always quick to silence, but it stubbornly managed to claw its way back to the forefront of her mind nonetheless. Every time she felt that way, a surge of guilt followed on its wake.

_He found me. He got me to a hospital in time. Without him that bite might have been fatal._

_He could not have known._

_He did his best._

_He is my father._

He always asked for her wellbeing and her answers were always the same and every time she could see the fear in his eyes, his fear of hearing finally a different response. To hear that she was not ok. He was afraid to hear her say it, because as long as she didn't, he could pretend, as long as she didn't, her monotonous answers might be repeated often enough to be accepted as the truth.

_At some point he will stop asking. _

_At some point I can stop lying._

She looked forward to it. Maybe then their relationship could be back to somewhat normal instead of this tense tightrope act, they had now. Their conversations had turned stale. Repetitive. Touching only safe topics while avoiding so many more, they should talk about. And those questions about her wellbeing always ended their interactions in tense silence, at least when he dared to ask. She knew he felt queasy in her presence. She knew he didn't know how to deal with her anymore. He was afraid to trigger a response out of her that rivaled the explosion of a bomb, with him as the spark. He walked on eggshells and she just wished he wouldn't.

She tried to act normal, but at the end, it made his behavior even more awkward.

She hated the constant reminders that she was different now.

She hated when he offered to take her bag, gently reminding her that she should not carry so many books with her.

She hated his sudden panicked glances, whenever she stubbed a toe or even slightly cut herself with a kitchen knife.

She hated that he let her win at chess.

She hated when he just stopped talking about his newest paintings, whenever she stepped into the room.

She hated that unsettling silence between them, when they had so much to talk about before.

Two times she had even snapped at him, fed up with being treated like a fragile porcelain doll. He tried to help. He tried to be sympathetic and understanding. She knew that, but sometimes her suppressed anger just broke out of her, anger that wasn't really directed at him but at herself and the general situation, she had to face.

_I cannot do that. I cannot snap at him anymore. _

She still remembered the expression on his face, when it happened the second time. The first time she had not seen his face, but it probably bore the same expression even then. As if she slapped him in the face and from his fearful eyes he had probably expected it to be only the beginning.

It wasn't. It was the end.

She did not lash out at him further. She wasn't like her mother. Instead she reined her frustration in and swore to be more careful in the future.

_I hurt him. It was never my intention to hurt him._

_I did nonetheless, because I was out of control._

_Because my frustration got the best of me._

_The last thing I want is to chase you away. _

… _but I also can't confide in you._

_I won't tell you how hard this really hits me, because I know, what it will do to you. And so we are both circling around the elephant in the room, never meeting each other in the process. I can't change that, not without hurting you. It makes no sense for both of us to suffer. _Sharing the pain does not ease it. She anyway did not know who came up with this stupid saying.

_I need to cope with this on my own._

_Maybe__ then you can forgive me for not being the child you want, for not being able to follow in your footsteps. I am not an artist like you. I cannot share this with you and now we cannot even share swimming anymore._

_If I just act as if __everything__ is normal, then everything will be back to the way it was. We will both learn to cope with it._

_We can find new things to share._

_I know it can happen._

_It just needs time._

_I know I am not making it easy for you, but it's the best I can do for now. Please, just bear with me for the time being…_

_I promise I will do better._

_I will come to terms with it and then I can fully concentrate on mending our relationship._

_Just wait a bit longer and this awkwardness between us will pass._

_Just wait for me to be ready._

He did not wait.

When she clung to these hopes, she did not know that when the time she was finally ready approached, her father was already gone. The ink of the very first divorce documents had not fully dried, when he left her behind for another of his painting trips. He had not returned since and she wasn't sure he would. She realized then that she had missed her chance. That she waited too long. That the events around her had continued moving when she stood still, frozen in her trauma. That she was still treading a path, when the aim of it had already left her reach.

_I should have been more forthcoming. _

_I should have been more open-minded towards him._

_I should have approached him sooner._

_I should have put more effort into it._

_There were so many of those damn 'I should have's._

Her regrets tasted bitter and meaningless. They were in the past. They were lost opportunities. He was gone now, a simple fact that made her feel so alone and hollow.

_I lost him._

And if that wasn't already enough to bear, she felt so conflicted about it. Torn between blaming herself and…

… _him_.

She tried to push those feelings away, tried to ban them from her thoughts, but they always returned. It was an internal battle she never won. Not in the long run. She could not suppress her own regrets and her feelings of bottled up anger and … disappointment.

_Why didn't you wait? Why did you give up so easily? Why do you just leave me behind, when I am of no use to you anymore?_

She didn't want to ponder about those questions. Her father never was like that. Those thoughts were petty. Selfish. Childish. Unfair. And still they pulled her down. The mere notion that her father wasn't interested anymore in mending things between them, pained her like nothing else. That he was finally so fed up with their monotonous conversations, her awkward behavior and the uneasy tension between them to throw in the towel.

_It could have worked, if you had just waited…_

…_but it seems…_

… _**I**__ just wasn't worth the wait._

_You did not even fight for your right of custody. You simply agreed with mother taking care of me. You agreed with everything she wanted. You did not even fight for visitation rights. You just relented to whatever was decided._

_Am I not worth fighting for?_

_Am I that unimportant to you… that much of a burden…?_

_That much of a disappointment that you rather cut ties to your own blood?_

_I want to believe that this is not the case. I want to believe that you have different reasons. I want to believe that my loving father has not just disappeared. That I didn't become a liability to you. A daughter that has lost her worth upon refusing a career as professional painter._

… _but at the end those are just believes, when your actions speak differently. At the end a belief always loses, if it has to face hard facts. At the end just believing is not enough… when you are not here to explain yourself…_

A sudden yelp startled her awake from her morbid daydreams and she was back at the lake's edge. She found the source of the noise rather quickly. A small boy, not older than five was dancing in the shallow waters splashing water at his older brother, giggling and laughing in a manner only an innocent child could. The parents were watching fondly from the bank.

The sight elicited a small smile from her lips that only lasted a blink of an eye. It quickly turned reminiscent, before it slowly died only to be replaced by a sad frown.

_I have been once like that kid as well. Learning to swim with utter joy. And dad has been just like that father as well. Proud, affectionate and … __**there**__. _

_Not anymore._

She looked away and her eyes were drawn to the water again.

_I will never be like that kid again._

_And that pride on my father's face has been long replaced by other … lesser emotions._

_The only things persisting are my memories._

_Of him teaching me chess and swimming. And when they have been fond before, they are just a painful remainder, now. I can't have those times back._

…_but I can still dance in the water just like that kid. I could…_

She made a tentative step forward until she was right at the edge and just stared at the translucent liquid. A swarm of tiny fish was circling in the shallow waters and she watched them swimming in an elegant formation.

She envied them.

Ami gulped, unsure what to do.

There was a lump in her throat and a stab of pain tore at her heart.

The water was only half a meter away and she was oh so tempted.

Tempted and fearful.

She felt as if she was facing a mortal enemy and not an old dearly missed friend.

In fact, the water was both, now.

It was full of contradictions, tied to a myriad of emotions, good and bad, that were only confusing her and adding to her inner turmoil.

Since that incident in the swimming hall she had avoided it like the plague. Of course, she had to shower, but that was the only close contact she allowed out of fear of the memories that might be evoked. Otherwise she made a wide berth around lakes, rivers or swimming halls. She did not go to public Onsen anymore and did not even bathe at home.

Until now.

_My feet carried me here without truly thinking about it._

Every fiber of her being just longed to plunge in, to give in to her weakness and just let happen whatever wants to happen, to hell with all consequences.

_I am tired of thinking myself to death._

_I just want to feel._

_I just want to feel what made me happy once._

_I want back the comfort the water once gave me._

She crouched down and her fingers skimmed through the water surface, scaring off the small fish. It was soothingly cool, a fresh velvet stream. The liquid soothed her fingers with its gentle touch and tempered the storm raging within her.

It brought back calm where before has only been anguish.

It was a taste of the forbidden fruit. A temptation dangling right in front of her eyes.

_I almost forgot that feeling. The promise of all worries being lifted from my soul._

She stared at it longer.

_Damn it. Let me just be weak today…_

_Just this once…_

She discarded her shoes and socks, quickly leaving them at the shore in a messy pile.

She inhaled deeply, before she carefully stepped forward and welcomed the cool soft current caressing her feet. Immediately she felt better, she felt the water wash away her worries and cleanse her troubled soul. She waded in deeper not bothering that her trousers got wet.

When she stood thigh-deep she stopped and just closed her eyes to revel in the feeling. It was everything she remembered and so much more.

It would just take a tiny move to submerge herself into the floating liquid completely, to surround herself entirely with the feeling she had missed so dearly, to hell with her clothes and everything else. She longed to leave the shallow waters behind to plunge in deeper. To swim. To dive… To be entirely surrounded by sparkling blue.

She inhaled deeply and the longing grew overwhelming. The temptation irresistible.

It takes just a tiny move…

_It will be worth it…_

_It will be worth everything…_

A gurgling whisper answered her burning desire.

She slowly opened her eyes and the first thing she saw was her reflection on the waving water surface. She expected no less. The slightly distorted face of a dark-haired child staring back at her wide-eyed. Her expression was off and she knew the cause.

She wasn't alone.

Another face was reflected on the water surface right next to hers with features so similar to her own, only older. Those sad eyes staring back at her in sympathy were hers, the same as the ones of that young reflection of her, her true self.

She immediately looked over her shoulder, although deep down she knew nobody would be there.

And indeed there was no one.

The additional reflection remained, though.

It did not scare her.

She knew that older face. It has visited her in her fevered dreams right after the snake bite in the hospital. A hallucination. An illusion her blurred mind had come up with in her delirium to help fight off the lasting effects of the toxin. A guarding angel meant to coax her away from death's doorstep.

"_Are you here to warn me? To stop me from doing something stupid?"_

The mere thought of someone looking out for her made a feeling of warmth well up in her chest.

There was no response. Just a frown of worry.

For some reason it made Ami happy to see that expression on her face. At the same time, she felt the need to soothe it.

_There is no need to worry. I… I know I … can't._

_The risk is way too high just for a fleeting feeling. _

_I may be a mess right now, but I am afraid my head is still ruling that mess._

The face sported now a gentle smile, as if it was proud of her restraint.

Ami averted her gaze, a shy notion to the hesitant words, which she kind of knew the other would understand without voicing them aloud.

_Thanks for … coming, anyway. Maybe … would you stay a while? … so that I am not alone standing in the middle of a lake like an utter fool… that would be nice. I would just like to stand here a bit longer…_

She stayed.

Meanwhile, Ami watched the sunlight dance over the lake's shimmering surface savoring the moment she had, while wishing for so much more.

_This … has to be enough. _She reminded herself sadly. A mantra that had ingrained itself into her life like no other.

And a voice in her head that was hers and still wasn't answered softly.

_For now. Only for now._

* * *

_AN: Well, I have grown quite fond of that little piece of Ami, although it has turned out more depressive than I initially wanted. Well, it kinda developed on its own this way and I have to admit there is a lot of myself in this story. Some might be wondering what the title of this story 'Nunatak' means. Well, if you google it you will find out that Nunatak is the Inuit (and scientific) term of an isolated mountain surrounded by glacial ice with the top peeking out. You can interpret this however you see fit._


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